Carbon Copy
by ozgcg
Summary: Somewhere, in an alternate universe, Jim runs into the nightmare he could have become: Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal. Two Moriarty's, parallel universes and whatnot. Fringe inspired, but not actually a crossover.


Jim could feel his heart thumping against his chest as he ran for his life through the dark, deserted shopping centre. His footsteps were painfully loud, echoing across the vast, empty halls, practically ringing the dinner bell. Yet he continued to run, even though he knew it was futile. Even though he could feel the man drawing nearer with every echoing footstep he took, could sense his diabolical smirking face just outside his field of vision.

"Oh Jim," the man's cold voice seemed to come from the darkness all around him, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, "haven't they taught you running is a sign of weakness? Oh, but you did always love to run from your troubles..."

Jim ran faster, but only managed to trip over his own feet, landing face first on the cold floor with a loud thud and a grunt. He tried to scramble back up, but felt a foot on his back push him hard back down against the floor.

"Running only delays the inevitable," the man drawled, "now, Jim. Daddy's had enough."

Jim felt the pressure lift as the man stepped back and took a seat on a nearby wooden bench. He looked up, trembling, past the expensive designer shoes and suit, and locked eyes with himself.

Except it wasn't himself, though physically he could've fooled anyone. But this man was far from being Jim. This man was cold, aloof, and maniacal, a sociopath in his own right.

Nothing like Jim, the librarian everyone requested for Children's Story Time at his neighbourhood library. Jim, the volunteer at the local community centre. Jim, the friendliest neighbour anyone could ask for.

Yet here he was, staring at this man who, for all intents and purposes, _was_ him. Like something out of a horror movie.

"W-who are you?" Jim stammered, failing to muster up the little courage he had left in him, "What do you want?"

"Nothing you can give me," the man said, cocking his head slightly, his dark eyes piercing straight through Jim, "but you could help me get it. Or else I'm afraid I might just have to kill you. It'd be such a shame, but so, so easy..."

"Why do you look like me?"

"Questions, questions, questions!" The man roared, slamming his fist on the bench, "Christ, what have they done to you?" He jumped to his feet and swooped down toward Jim with unbelievable speed. Jim flinched, preparing for the worst, but the worst didn't come. Instead, the man cupped Jim's face with one hand tenderly, almost lovingly. Jim looked up at those dark eyes, essentially his own eyes, and was surprised to see disappointment in them.

"It was Mrs. Pope, wasn't it?" The man said sadly, "She got to you, didn't she?"

"H-how do you know about her?" Jim stammered.

"Little brick house in the outskirts of London, a loving mother you can't remember because she died too soon, an abusive father who beat you on a daily basis, and next door, a caring old lady who would do anything to save you from the hell you lived in."

Jim gaped at his doppelgänger.

"How do you-?"

"Oh, but she died, you see. She died too, when I was 7. They always die. And sometimes, they die because of you."

The man was now staring off into the distance, his hold on Jim's face tightening slightly.

"How did yours die?" He asked suddenly, his eyes focused on Jim once more. Jim swallowed hard.

"M-mine?"

"Your Mrs. Pope," the man said impatiently, shaking Jim.

"She died when I was 18, of old age. I was away at uni. I missed the funeral."

"How terrible that must have been," the man said, rolling his eyes, "she took care of you, didn't she? She lived longer, made you into _this," _he scoffed, letting go of Jim's face brusquely.

"Who are you?" Jim asked again, in a vain attempt to buy himself more time. To his surprise, the man smiled.

"I'm your potential, Jim," he smirked coolly, "I'm what you could have become, what you could still be. I'm you, with an entirely different set of choices and actions that have gotten me to where I am now. You could say I'm from a different world, because, well, _I am," _he grinned maniacally, his laugh echoing around the shopping centre, sending chills down Jim's spine. But just as chilling was the speed at which his face went from hysterical to somber, his gleeful smirk replaced with an almost businesslike frown.

"And I'm here to help you," he went on, kneeling down next to Jim, "because I need you to help me back."

He moved closer to Jim until their foreheads were pressed tightly against one another, Jim's own eyes staring back at him with chilling malice.

"Hello," the man muttered, "I'm Jim Moriarty. How would you like to destroy the universe with me?"


End file.
